Chapter 9 - Noah’s Doubts
Chapter 9
Noah’s Doubts
Friday
As Noah did every night, he closed the bookshop at six o’clock and walked across to the café. There was a round table near the front door for men eating supper alone. The unmarried, the widowers, the traveling truckers who knew the food was good, but the people who interested him most were the bewildered husbands.
Mateo, the café’s owner, didn’t want a table taken up by one man so he always herded the lonely to the first big round table. The men didn’t seem to mind eating with strangers since Mateo offered a free dessert.
The women always came in groups to eat. They ate further inside the café where the wind didn’t bother them every time the door opened. Noah noticed none of the women even glanced at the round table of men. He figured that table was the leftovers, like the “last chance” bin at the dollar store. At even half price no one wanted them.
The last kind of men to find a seat at the table were the bewildered husbands, who didn’t talk much. They just ate or cried or cussed, usually without following the conversation.
Eventually they’d start talking. They all had the same story. It started with something simple. He forgot an anniversary, or a birthday, or a dinner with her parents. He’d say he was tired or worked late to explain calling it an early night. He’d just say he didn’t want to talk about it.
She’d forgive him once, but the game was on.
Strike one.
Then after a month or so he’d stop to have a beer with the guys and forget to call. After all, he’d say, he’s an adult. He didn’t need a leash; he’d declare she was nagging while he ate his cold, leftover supper.
Strike two.
Then he stopped talking to the wife, and just argued. Any room and subject was fair game.
Then came the next mistake—he swore it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t been thinking straight. He didn’t mean to sleep with another woman; it just happened.
Strike three.
Before he knew it, his clothes were on the lawn and now he’s sitting at the single man table at Mateo’s.
The interesting thing about it to Noah was they each thought that it’s all their wives’ or girlfriends’ fault. She wasn’t fair. No one was perfect. He’d never do it again, he swore.
The other men at the table with the homeless husband agreed it wasn’t fair. After all, he’d made it home 364 days out of 365, and he swore he had no idea where his underwear was.
Noah never said a word. Sometimes the bewildered guy hammered the last nail in his own coffin. He told the wife that the woman wasn’t even good-looking or good at sex most of the time.
About then the wife screamed, or worse, stomped on his best hat lying in the grass. Now and then the guy’s head was in it.
Noah took notes, but he’d never been dumped. He’d never even been in love, or talked to anyone he didn’t have to. He remembered his mother telling him to not talk to the other kids in grade school. By high school most of the kids already had their friends, so he walked the halls alone. Not even the bullies bothered to pick on him. In college most of his dates were study dates or blind dates that neither wanted to repeat.
The one relationship he could remember was his parents’. But it was largely a silent partnership. He never remembered any real affection between them and very little conversation. He didn’t remember them arguing or fighting, all he remembered was the silence. He found it both frightening and comforting at the same time. It was one of the reasons that the tales these men had of passionate outbursts and all-night arguments with their spouses fascinated him. He couldn’t imagine such a life and wondered what the children in those households remembered. It was as if there was so much more to grasp about the way men and women loved one another, and even though these tales largely ended the same way—badly—it set his imagination on fire. How could you love someone so much and yet hurt them so easily? Love, like everything else in Noah’s life, was something he viewed from the sidelines and not something he really experienced himself.
As he left the café, Noah thought he might be turning into one of the locals, even though he couldn’t say “Howdy” right. He’d started talking about what he wanted to do someday, but he never took one step toward those goals, like taking a road trip some summer. Paint the bookshop. Run for mayor, even though he’d never have a chance, not being born and raised here. If your mother didn’t spill her birthing blood in the county, you’d always be an outsider.
When he’d leased the bookshop, he’d told himself he’d close the place and take a vacation for a month every year. He’d buy posters from every place he went and plaster the walls of his apartment. He’d fly to New York most Christmases and see his folks and go to a Broadway play every night. Then he’d come back and tell these Texans what it was like. He might play all the songs of the plays in the shop, whether he had time to see the shows or not.
Some nights, goals filled his thoughts as Noah talked to the stars. He’d tell the moon he’d learn something new every season. He’d promised himself he’d not just dream; he’d do. He wanted to discover things. Wander out of his quiet, comfortable life.
He’d almost done that last summer. He stepped out of his comfort zone to have an adventure. He got to the door of the bar in Clifton Bend. The college town was lively. But when the bar’s door opened, he saw kids ten years younger stomping to country music. He’d tried another bar in Someday Valley. He made it not more than three feet inside when he decided the music was too loud and the room too crowded. Then it got worse when they locked arms over each other in a row and all yelled “Bull shit!” Two words seemed to be the limit of the lyrics.
Noah grinned thinking these cowboys were the worst imitation in the world of the Rockettes. One three-hundred-pound drunk tripped over his boots and took half the line dancers to the floor.
Noah had chuckled as he drove straight home, parked in front of his bookshop and promised himself he’d give up on living the wild life. A blink later he was running past his apartment on the second floor and heading for the roof. He’d climbed the stairs two at a time until he reached his destination. He stood on the edge at the back of the building, looked down at the dark water below and yelled, “Bull shit!” for no reason at all.
Noah had walked out of the bar thinking living life full-out wasn’t as fun as he thought it might be. He wanted to take big bites of life, but all he ever got were hors d’oeuvres.
Tonight, months since he’d tried to live one adventure, he stood alone in the cold of midnight, then paced the roof of the mall and took a deep breath. Sometimes being with people was lonelier than standing alone. Maybe he should just stay on the roof until he starved or got lucky and lightning struck him.
Suddenly his primal cry for answers echoed off the night. All the notes he’d written about the locals not following their dreams didn’t mean anything. He wasn’t making notes about others; he was writing about himself. His parents were right. If he didn’t set goals, draw a map, climb every mountain, push, and push, and push, he’d get nowhere.
He had less money today than when he left New York. He hadn’t visited any of the places he’d dreamed of going. Not one poster was on his wall. He had no friends. No girlfriend or a sometime lover. Not even one who would kick him out because he was nothing.
Looking over the little town, Noah realized Honey Creek was as beautiful as always, but he didn’t belong here.
He belonged nowhere.
A low voice floating on the breeze almost seemed real. “Are you all right, Noah?”
He didn’t move. “Great, now I’m hearing things. I’m not a failure; I’m just going crazy. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll fall apart alone.”
The light laughter he’d heard twice before reached his ears more like a memory than reality as he slowly turned around.
Cora Lee, the silent daughter of Bear Buchanan, seemed to materialize out of the shadows. “You all right, Mr. O’Brien?” she asked again.
“I don’t know. I think I’m having a breakdown. Of course, if I did crack up, I’d be doing something new. Every day is the same. Nothing changes. Insanity is riding this merry-go-round I’m on and I have no clue how to get off.”
He heard that gentle laugh again. “No, you’re not. I teach first grade. Believe me, I know the difference between a breakdown and a fit. A breakdown is usually when you’re carrying too much on your shoulders. Too many bills or problems or even too many kids mobbing you in the hallway.
“When someone has a breakdown, they don’t think they can handle it all. A fit is when you don’t get what you want and everyone around you has to deal with it.”
He smiled. She had never had a conversation more than two sentences with him, and here she was analyzing his problem. He felt like a fool.
He wouldn’t have thought he could feel any lower tonight, but she managed the task. “I’m all right. I just cracked for a minute. I’ll get over it, Miss Buchanan.”
She put her fists on her hips and said in her teacher voice, “Tell me what has you so upset. You’re a good man, Mr. O’Brien. No matter what monster you are fighting, I’ll help you. After eight years of teaching first-graders, I can handle any crisis.”
With the shadows of night almost swallowing her, he faced her and realized this shy woman was a beautiful warrior. Her kids must love her. She was standing in front of him ready to help him fight the demons she couldn’t even see.
For the first time Noah wanted to open up to someone. No, that’s not right. He wanted to open up to her.
He pulled up a decrepit lawn chair he sometimes sat in to watch the stars. But tonight, he offered it to her as he leaned against the three-foot roof border that fenced them in like a crown atop the mall.
As midnight crawled toward them, the town settled down to sleep. No cars passing. No barking dogs. No people chatting below on the town square. He talked, but all he heard was the water splashing nearby.
His words moved slowly and lowered. He could see the moon’s glow in her eyes and for a moment he wondered if she was real. A listener found by a man who never truly talked. Noah began by telling her about growing up and being a lonely only child. He never remembered his parents playing a board game with him, or taking him to a show or even a vacation.
He described middle school, where he thought he was invisible, and high school, when he wished he could be. The few times he asked to go to a dance or a ballgame, his father would remind him there were more important things to do.
For the past three years he’d held inside all of his thoughts and his opinions. Never talking between all the “Good mornings” and “I think you’ll like this new release.” He had a thousand nothing words to say: Have a great day. Come back. Good to see you again.
Words that passed between people that meant zero.
As he looked out at the stream, he realized he’d talked to the water more than any person in town.
When he glanced back, Noah could almost see behind Cora Lee’s eyes. A loneliness was there that mirrored his own. A loneliness he knew well. A watcher. Never an adventurer. Her big sister did all the talking and all the living. Cora Lee was the follower, the listener.
“You’ll be all right, Noah. Lonely will pass,” she said as if she knew the place called Lonely well.
Her shy smile slowly returned. “What would you want to do, Mr. O’Brien, right now? Would you run away from Honey Creek like you did from New York? Would you jump off the roof to see if you could fly? Would you laugh at the world and turn away from people like I sometimes do?”
She raised her arms. “Fog is coming in. No one will see you. What do you wish you could do?”
He took a step closer and realized she was the sister that no one saw. Kind, bright, and full of empathy.
One thought filled his mind. It wasn’t about him or his problems. The adventure he was looking for might just be getting to understand Cora Lee.
His words were low, flowing on the wind. “I’d kiss you if I could do anything.”
The words were out before he could stop them. It seemed for once in his life he said exactly what he thought . . . what he wanted.
Her green eyes widened as she stepped back and he realized she was going to take flight.
“I’m . . . Oh, Miss Buchanan, I’m sorry . . . I hope I didn’t offend you. I . . . I . . .” Noah was taking more time apologizing than he’d taken in asking. She’d been the one who inquired what he wanted to do and all he’d done was answer honestly.
Noah realized he was identifying with the bewildered husbands at the café. He couldn’t understand.
He looked down at her braided hair. He knew she was almost as old as he was, but the braids made her look younger.
Noah had to convince her he wasn’t nuts. “I’m sorry. I . . .” No more words came. He wished he could disappear. Or maybe he should tell her to vanish. After all, he was on the roof first. She’d be mad and never talk to him again.
To his surprise, she took a step toward him.
Noah did his best to turn to stone. Anything else was bound to be the wrong move.
She looked directly at him. “Mr. O’Brien, if you wish to kiss me, I have no objection. It’s been a long time since anyone kissed me.”
Her words were so unexpected they almost felt like a slap.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable because I asked. I . . .”
She smiled that shy smile again. “I’m not a child. I know my own mind. At this rate, it will be dawn before you move. Your suggestion was interesting.”
Both seemed to stop even breathing.
Finally, she looked up. “Yes, Mr. O’Brien, I’d like you to kiss me. If we don’t like the exchange, we’ll never mention it again.”
Noah took a step toward her. He still wanted to kiss her, but she seemed to take it as a dare.
She lifted her head up as he moved closer. One inch apart. She didn’t look afraid or even interested.
“Close your eyes.” He expected her to argue, but she didn’t.
Slowly he pulled the rubber band from the end of her braid and freed her hair. One side, then the other. It was thick and felt like satin.
She didn’t move and she didn’t follow orders. She just stared at him as if she could read his mind.
The breeze blew a strand across her face and he gently brushed it away. When his fingers moved a curl back into place, his thumb brushed over her lips and she finally closed her eyes.
She swayed a bit and he put his arm around her and pulled her closer. “This is going to take some time. Any objection?”
“No,” she answered as his lips touched hers.
He’d meant to go slow, but suddenly the desire to connect pushed them both forward. He pulled her against his chest and laced his fingers into her hair. He could feel her heart pounding, but she didn’t remain still. She wrapped her arms around his neck as if she was holding on to life.
The kiss was tender for a moment, then both grew hungry for more.
He feared he was hugging her too tightly. Bruising her lips. He wanted to slow down. She was fragile and he shouldn’t hold her too close, but when he tried to slow, she wouldn’t let him. They were both starving.
Two lonely people, he thought. Two lost souls afraid to live. Two hearts craving connection.
Suddenly, he realized his heart had shattered. The feelings inside him might last a second or a lifetime, but he couldn’t have stopped if the whole town was watching. For a breath she was against him. Heart against heart.
As the full moon passed over the sky, they slowed. He picked up Cora and moved to the old lawn chair. He sat down and she cuddled in his arms as if she belonged there. With their cheeks almost touching they watched the stars peeking between clouds.
He slid his hands along her arms and then her back and finally along her legs. You’re real, he almost said out loud.
When he pushed the hem of her skirt a few inches above her knee she said softly, “You mind if I touch you as well? I have to believe you’re authentic and not a strange ghost dressed as my bookshop owner. I’d be kissing an imposter wearing my Noah’s glasses.”
He stilled, then slowly leaned down as his forehead touched hers. “So, I’m your Noah?”
“Yes. You have been for a while. You are kind and smart. I just didn’t know how to tell you. If you want to be mine for while?”
“Makes more sense than you thinking I’m one of the long-dead spirits from the third floor.” He felt her laughter against his chest. “If I’m yours for a moment, would it be all right if you’re mine?”
He brushed her hair from her cheek and wished they’d stay close for a while. He wanted to hold her, kiss her again, and talk to her.
To his surprise she cuddled against him and he knew she’d felt lonely to the bone. They both had lived without companionship or touch for so long.
He held her hands and tried to think of something, anything to say.
“What’s up on the third floor?” he asked as he thought it was a dumb thing to say but he had to talk. “I’ve thought of searching for a desk to use downstairs. It wouldn’t be stealing. I’m not taking it out of the building.”
Cora giggled and her breath brushed his throat. “There is nothing important in there. Just junk. I remember three other businesses on the first floor before you came.” Her words came low and almost disappeared on the wind.
They were talking of nothing but the brush of her cheek against his was communicating and the light movement of his hand along her back was answering.
Her words whispered against his ear. “Once it was a children’s bookshop with toys among secondhand books. The old lady who ran it promised to come back for the toys, but she didn’t. She wrote Bear and told him to give the books to the library. My dad is still storing the old toys for her, even though she’d be a hundred by now.
“Then, there was an antique store. The guy who ran it, a World War One vet, was older than any of the furniture he tried to sell, but he told everyone he’d be rich soon.
“He died and his kids, long grown, said they would pick up the inventory. But it has been decades since they buried the old guy, and the heirs should be old enough to drive by now.” She tried to hide her amusement at her joke.
Moving her hand across his chest she lowered her words, “I like being close to you. You feel very real. Sometimes, when Kat and I are having coffee, I think you’re vanishing. You’re like me, one of the people others don’t notice.”
His reply was lost in her kiss.
The feel of her skin warmed him as he kissed across her cheek. “I love this, but is it too much too fast, Miss Buchanan?”
He felt her laugh against his forehead as he moved to kiss her throat. Noah loved that he could feel her emotions as well as hear them.
She pulled away a few inches and he felt the night’s cold. Her fists were back on her waist. The teacher was back. “All right. I liked the kiss and you holding me, but you’ve got to stop calling me Miss Buchanan.”
“What should I call you? Cora or Cora Lee?”
She kissed the tip of his nose. “I don’t know. You ask too many questions. Can we go back to kissing?”
“So, you do like my kiss?” He felt like a kid.
She rested her cheek on his chest and answered, “I’m not sure, Mr. O’Brien. I feel like I might have another taste if you don’t mind.”
Without a word his kiss turned light and tender. He didn’t care what he called her and she could call him anything she wanted to when they were in public as long as he could kiss her now and then.
He decided he’d always call her “Dear” in his mind, and hopefully when they were alone.
Whether they lasted a day, a month, or a lifetime, he’d never forget this night. He’d always thought love slammed into people. But it didn’t. It drifted in, as if it had been there all the time.
This night, three years after he settled in the valley, he had his first grand adventure. Tonight, he’d come alive.
An hour later, the wind was blowing in a cold front and they rushed to the roof door. They held hands as they walked down.
In the hallway light, she was back to being shy. He let go of her hand.
She backed away as if they were simply strangers passing on the steps.
“What’s wrong?” He slowed.
She moved away another few inches. “I’m sorry, Noah. It’s just been a long time since I’ve been kissed and never like you just did. I have no idea what to say. Thank you doesn’t seem right.”
Every cell inside him wanted to feel her against him. He’d gone beyond just a kiss. He wanted to pull her into his arms. But he might frighten her. He couldn’t order her to kiss him again and he couldn’t walk away.
When they stood still, a breath between them in the dark, dusty hallway, he was afraid to push her into something he wasn’t sure she could handle.
She wasn’t looking up at him. Strangers again, he feared.
He had to let her know how he felt. He wanted to tell her how much this moment meant.
He took a step away. “Are you all right, Cora Lee?”
She nodded but still didn’t look at him. He couldn’t let it end like this.
“Miss Buchanan, would you allow me to kiss you goodnight now and then? Seems everyone in the world has someone to kiss, and you’re the only one I want to.”
She nodded again without looking up.
Noah pulled a rag from his back pocket that he used to wipe dust off the tables. He raised it and unscrewed the stairway lightbulb. Then, slowly he leaned down and kissed her cheek as they stood in shadow.
“Again?” he whispered in her ear.
She nodded.
He kissed her lightly again, barely touching her lips, but his hands circled her waist and tugged her closer. “I want you near me. If you object, you’d best say so. I’d like to get closer every time I see you. I want you against me so I can match my breathing to yours.”
When he straightened and took one step away, he waited for her to react. After a very long moment, she looked up. “Again?”
“Of course, dear.”
This time she moved toward him and he wrapped his arms around her. For a while all he wanted to do was learn how she wanted to be kissed. Every time he got it just right, he heard a little sound that made him smile.
When he finally pulled an inch away, he said, “You all right with this?
. . . with us?”
“Yes.” Her fingers fisted in his sweater as if she’d never allow him to leave.
“Me too, but don’t worry; we’ll go slow. I don’t want to frighten you. I’ll make sure you’re all right with everything. We’ve got all the time in the world. We’ll talk and get to know each other. We may have to give your father time to get used to me being around you. I waited a year for Bear to smile at me. I’ll be near retirement before he slaps me on the back.”
To his surprise she put her fingers over his lips. “Stop. I have to tell you something.”
“All right.” A dozen things went through his mind. She probably wanted to tell him this was a one-time thing. It would never happen again. She’s dying and can’t get mixed up with him. She was moving to another country. She didn’t really like him. She had another lover and didn’t have time. She’s joining a nunnery. He kissed too bad to try again.
“What? Tell me.” He stepped away. Whatever came might feel like a blow.
He could almost feel her green eyes staring at him for a moment before she said, “I don’t want to go slow.”
He fought for air.
She simply smiled, kissed him on his cheek, and said, “We’ll have coffee in the morning and work out the details.”
When she turned and went inside her apartment, Noah stood in the dark hallway. For a moment he didn’t know where he was. What floor, what building, what town, what planet.
“Goodnight!” he yelled loud enough to wake the ghosts on the third floor.
Then, he remembered. He was alive.